as often as we did so, he would claim my success as the
result of the roots which he gave me. This superstition
is very common among the more ignorant slaves. A slave
seldom dies but that his death is attributed to trickery.
rather see us engaged in those degrading sports, than
to see us behaving like intellectual, moral, and ac-
countable beings. My blood boils as I think of the
bloody manner in which Messrs. Wright Fairbanks
and Garrison West, both class-leaders, in connection
with many others, rushed in upon us with sticks
and stones, and broke up our virtuous little Sab-
bath school, at St. Michael’s — all calling themselves
Christians! humble followers of the Lord Jesus
Christ! But I am again digressing.
I held my Sabbath school at the house of a free
colored man, whose name I deem it imprudent to
mention; for should it be known, it might embar-
rass him greatly, though the crime of holding the
school was committed ten years ago. I had at one
time over forty scholars, and those of the right sort,
ardently desiring to learn. They were of all ages,
though mostly men and women. I look back to those
Sundays with an amount of pleasure not to be ex-
pressed. They were great days to my soul. The work
of instructing my dear fellow-slaves was the sweetest
engagement with which I was ever blessed. We loved
each other, and to leave them at the close of the
Sabbath was a severe cross indeed. When I think
that these precious souls are to-day shut up in the
prison-house of slavery, my feelings overcome me,
and I am almost ready to ask, “Does a righteous
God govern the universe? and for what does he hold
the thunders in his right hand, if not to smite the
oppressor, and deliver the spoiled out of the hand
of the spoiler?” These dear souls came not to Sab-
bath school because it was popular to do so, nor did
I teach them because it was reputable to be thus
engaged. Every moment they spent in that school,
they were liable to be taken up, and given thirty-
nine lashes. They came because they wished to
learn. Their minds had been starved by their cruel
masters. They had been shut up in mental darkness.
I taught them, because it was the delight of my
soul to be doing something that looked like better-
ing the condition of my race. I kept up my school
nearly the whole year I lived with Mr. Freeland;
and, beside my Sabbath school, I devoted three eve-
nings in the week, during the winter, to teaching the
slaves at home. And I have the happiness to know,
that several of those who came to Sabbath school
learned how to read; and that one, at least, is now
free through my agency.
The year passed off smoothly. It seemed only
about half as long as the year which preceded it.
I went through it without receiving a single blow.
I will give Mr. Freeland the credit of being the
best master I ever had, TILL I BECAME MY OWN MAS-
TER. For the ease with which I passed the year, I
was, however, somewhat indebted to the society of
my fellow-slaves. They were noble souls; they not
only possessed loving hearts, but brave ones. We
were linked and interlinked with each other. I loved
them with a love stronger than any thing I have
experienced since. It is sometimes said that we
slaves do not love and confide in each other. In
answer to this assertion, I can say, I never loved
any or confided in any people more than my fellow-
slaves, and especially those with whom I lived at
Mr. Freeland’s. I believe we would have died for
each other. We never undertook to do any thing,
of any importance, without a mutual consultation.
We never moved separately. We were one; and as
much so by our tempers and dispositions, as by the
mutual hardships to which we were necessarily sub-
jected by our condition as slaves.
At the close of the year 1834, Mr. Freeland again
hired me of my master, for the year 1835. But, by
this time, I began to want to live UPON FREE LAND
as well as WITH FREELAND; and I was no longer con-
tent, therefore, to live with him or any other slave-
holder. I began, with the commencement of the
year, to prepare myself for a final struggle, which
should decide my fate one way or the other. My
tendency was upward. I was fast approaching man-
hood, and year after year had passed, and I was
still a slave. These thoughts roused me — I must do
something. I therefore resolved that 1835 should
not pass without witnessing an attempt, on my part,
to secure my liberty. But I was not willing to cherish
this determination alone. My fellow-slaves were dear
to me. I was anxious to have them participate with
me in this, my life-giving determination. I therefore,
though with great prudence, commenced early to
ascertain their views and feelings in regard to their
condition, and to imbue their minds with thoughts
of freedom. I bent myself to devising ways and
means for our escape, and meanwhile strove, on all
fitting occasions, to impress them with the gross
fraud and inhumanity of slavery. I went first to
Henry, next to John, then to the others. I found,
in them all, warm hearts and noble spirits. They
were ready to hear, and ready to act when a feasible
plan should be proposed. This was what I wanted.
I talked to them of our want of manhood, if we
submitted to our enslavement without at least one
noble effort to be free. We met often, and consulted
frequently, and told our hopes and fears, recounted
the difficulties, real and imagined, which we should
be called on to meet. At times were were almost dis-
posed to give up, and try to content ourselves with
our wretched lot; at others, we were firm and un-
bending in our determination to go. Whenever we
suggested any plan, there was shrinking — the odds
were fearful. Our path was beset with the greatest
obstacles; and if we succeeded in gaining the end
of it, our right to be free was yet questionable — we
were yet liable to be returned to bondage. We could
see no spot, this side of the ocean, where we could
be free. We knew nothing about Canada. Our
knowledge of the north did not extend farther than
New York; and to go there, and be forever harassed
with the frightful liability of being returned to
slavery — with the certainty of being treated tenfold
worse than before — the thought was truly a horrible
one, and one which it was not easy to overcome.
The case sometimes stood thus: At every gate
through which we were to pass, we saw a watchman
— at every ferry a guard — on every bridge a sentinel —
and in every wood a patrol. We were hemmed in
upon every side. Here were the difficulties, real or
imagined — the good to be sought, and the evil to be
shunned. On the one hand, there stood slavery, a
stern reality, glaring frightfully upon us, — its robes
already crimsoned with the blood of millions, and
even now feasting itself greedily upon our own flesh.
On the other hand, away back in the dim distance,
under the flickering light of the north star, behind
some craggy hill or snow-covered mountain, stood
a doubtful freedom — half frozen — beckoning us to
come and share its hospitality. This in itself was
sometimes enough to stagger us; but when we per-
mitted ourselves to survey the road, we were fre-
quently appalled. Upon either side we saw grim
death, assuming the most horrid shapes. Now it was
starvation, causing us to eat our own flesh; — now we
were contending with the waves, and were drowned;
— now we were overtaken, and torn to pieces by the
fangs of the terrible bloodhound. We were stung
by scorpions, chased by wild beasts, bitten by snakes,
and finally, after having nearly reached the desired
spot, — after swimming rivers, encountering wild
beasts, sleeping in the woods, suffering hunger and
nakedness, — we were overtaken by our pursuers, and,
in our resistance, we were shot dead upon the spot!
I say, this picture sometimes appalled us, and made
us
“rather bear those ills we had,
Than fly to others, that we knew not of.”
In coming to a fixed determination to run away,
we did more than Patrick Henry, when he resolved
upon liberty or death. With us it was a doubtful
liberty at most, and almost certain death if we failed.
For my part, I should prefer death to hopeless bond-
age.
Sandy, one of our number, gave up the notion,